Erato's Ballad
by phoenix-rises-from-the-ashes
Summary: A complete retelling of the love story of Achilles and Briseis. Starts from their seperate childhoods to WAY after Troy. OK! Chapter Four: Cousin Patroclus is UP! Thanks to everyone for reading and please review!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the characters/events/places associated with it.

The nine Muses sing in voices sweeter than nightingales. They sing to kindle joy and happiness in the hearts of mortals and gods alike. They sing to invoke sadness and grief upon listeners. The Muses sing to spread the beauty of music and song. But mostly they sing so that the glories of the past will never be forgotten. They sing so that great achievements and acts will be remembered for years to come. Calliope - leader of the Muses - sings in her low and beguiling voice of epic poetry. Urania - more beautiful than the stars - sings of the msysteries yet unsolved in the world. Graceful Polyhymnia sings and mimes of the great bards of the past. Spirited Terpischore accompanies her music with dance as she illustrates beauty and joy. Melpomene sings in her soft and gentle voice of broken promises and failed endeavors and tragedies. Euterpe sings softly the glory and magnificence of the gods. Radiant Clio sings of wars and fame of the past. Sweet and lovely Erato - the most exquisite of the nine beautiful goddesses - sings songs that stir the hearts of men; she makes sure that tales of love and devotion are never forgotten through the course of time.

There is one song of love more powerful, beautiful, and heart-wrenching than all the others. It is not a story of how a beautiful princess and an overwhelmingly handsome god fall in love despite the objections of a powerful goddess. It is not a story of how a nymph loved one man so much that even he left her for another, she followed him to death and beyond. It is not even a tale of how a princess's love for her husband changed her, broke her, and strengthened her into a great heroine of history. This is a song about a man and a woman as different from each other as it is possible to be; a tale of how they met in the worst of circumstances; a ballad of how they overcame all obstacles and shared a love that lasted through wars, grief, deaths, and eternity itself.

She was a beautiful priestess of Apollo who swore to forsake all men for eternity. She grew up in the splendid gold-and-silver palace of Troy with a loving aunt and uncle and many caring cousins. She was taught to detest war and to love peace and harmony. She grew up sweet and content in the palace, obedient to her elders, and deferential to the gods. She was spirited and fun, yet respectful and intelligent. She looked down on most men, scoring them as beasts who cared for naught but war, thinking them as barbarians in comparison to the calm god Apollo. She was loved from the cradle, was taught that love and respect for the gods came above everything. She grew up with two favorite cousins who loved her - one was wise and gentle and the other impetuous and stubborn - yet she loved both of them equally. She was the last girl to experience Aphrodite's magic.

He was a handsome prince of Phtia who swore that he would gain immortality through glory and greatness. He grew up in a kingdom that was beautiful but wild, with a mother who was an immortal goddess and a father who was a hero warrior. He was taught all of the arts of fighting and war, and excelled at strategic fighting as well as pure combat. He grew up strong-willed and rebellious, serving no king but his father and challenging the gods themselves. He was not just a mindless warrior, but intelligent and thoughtful as well. But he was cold and near heartless, seeing the many women who fell in love with him as only playthings for his amusement, to be tossed aside whenever his fancy waned. He walked with the gods and walked with their confidence. He was taught that glory - the glory that one earns that elevates him above all others for eternity - is the prize to always strive for. He was taught from birth that emotions are for the weak; the strong have no need of them. He grew up caring for only three people: his mother, father, and his young, kindhearted cousin. He was the last man to love - and to admit to himself that he loved.

The two were as different as night and day. They lived in two kingdoms separated by the Aegean Sea. They lived completely different lives, had completely different goals, and were two completely different people. They had practically no chance of ever meeting each other face to face. They had no wish to travel to the kingdom where the other lived. The two probably should never have met.

Fate often has different ideas. Fate brought the unlikely people together in one -

But this is getting ahead of the story. A good and talented bard never sings a tale from the middle – it always has to start at the beginning. So let us go to the beginning of this tale, to the wedding banquet of Thetis the beautiful sea goddess and King Peleus of Phtia, a wedding attended by all the main gods and goddesses but one.

Goddess of strife Eris was not included in the invitations. Angered and greatly annoyed, she flew down to the banquet invisibly anyway, casting upon the table seating the gods a most beauteous golden apple. Inscribed upon it were the words: _To the fairest_. Three words that spelled destruction.

Instantly three beautiful goddesses claimed the apple, and it just so happens that these three goddesses are not minor ones. Oh no. These three are probably the most powerful of goddesses barring Themis herself: noble Hera who is Queen of the Heavens; striking Athena who is Goddess of Wisdom; and seductive Aphrodite who rules supreme over the most powerful force of nature of all – love.

The goddesses each claimed that the apple was obviously meant for her, and each was so stubborn that none would relent and withdraw her claim. Their argument lasted for years and years, and while they argued there was no peace on Earth or Mt Olympus. Finally, thunder-striking Zeus who rules over all wearied of the entire quarrel and decided to intervene.

"Someone must be declared the winner," he told his son Hermes, stroking his beard. "This cannot go on."

"But no god can judge," protested Hermes of the swift feet, messenger of the gods. "It would cause chaos."

And Hermes's words rang true. If a god or goddess judged it surely would cause chaos, perhaps another war among the gods. So it was settled by thunder-striking Zeus that the judge would be a mortal shepherd, one who would be fair and unbiased, and hopefully unimportant enough that nothing too disastrous would come of the whole affair. So he intended, and so Hermes intended to carry it out. Alas, Fate often has different plans for us.

Fate willed that the shepherd-judge be Paris, secret son of King Priam of Troy, abandoned because of his destiny that he would bring doom to Troy, and raised by a kindly shepherd. Fate willed it that weak-hearted Paris chose Aphrodite's seductive beauty and her shallow prize. Fate willed it that Aphrodite should pick Helen of Sparta as the most beautiful of all women, that Eros should shoot Helen with such skill that Helen forgot her love for her husband, forgot everything but lust for Paris, and gave up everything to run away with Paris back to Troy. Fate willed it that the Trojan War would be a war to be remembered for centuries to come.

A handsome young man and and a beautiful young woman, as different as night and day, who resided in two kingdoms separated by the Aegean Sea. Two people who never would have met had not Fate dictated otherwise. A young man and woman who would share the most powerful and spellbinding love of all, whose faith and love endured despite so many obstacles, whose love will be sung about for eons to come.

His name is Achilles. Her name is Briseis


	2. Briseis of Troy

Disclaimer: I still don't own Troy or any places/people/events associated with it.

Briseis giggled as the cold seawater tickled her toes - sending very agreeable tingles down her spine. "Hector, let me down!" she cried as she thumped her fists against his strong back. "Let me _doooooooooown_!" Her last words ended in a squeal of mixed delight and fear as her cousin suddenly made as if to dunk her wholly into the water. "No!" she cried in horror. "Hector! Iit's freezing in the water!"

Hector grinned at his young cousin. He shifted the squirming girl to push the curly brown hair from his forehead. The sixteen year-old was enjoying this immensely; he dipped his cousin down so that her toes brushed the cold salty water again. "You should have thought of that _before_ you and Paris altered the milk for breakfast," he replied amiably. "Besides, cold water is good for your health, and you should learn that seven really is too old to play pranks."

"What about Paris?" demanded Briseis. Her large green eyes flashed with childish indignation. "Why isn't _he _being punished?"

Hector flashed his cousin a broad grin. "Oh, he is," he answered equably. "Right now, he has been tied to the saddle of Darkheart," he informed Briseis, naming the fiercest stallion in the stables, well known for bucking off all his riders save Hector. Precisely the reason Priam forbade anyone to ride the stallion but Hector. "Darkheart is taking a long gallop along the mountainsides today. I do hope Paris doesn't get too bruised without his saddle."

Briseis winced sympathetically for her partner-in-crime. "Poor Paris; he doesn't deserve _that_," she commented, conveniently forgetting the look of appalled horror on her cousin's face when he gulped down his glass of milk that morning and the furious sputtering that followed. Apparently, Hector did. He kicked up a wave of water; Briseis squealed again as the icy water slapped against her bare legs. "_Hectooooor,_" she moaned as she clung to her cousin's muscled body.

The two were interrupted from their wrangling – or rather, Hector was prevented from torturing Briseis further – by the slim and very beautiful dark-haired youth who came racing down the sandy beaches to join them. "Hector!" he called, and then squinted incredulously. "And Briseis," he added uncertainly. "What are you doing, Hector?" The youth pushed glossy dark curls from his forehead with languid grace as he grinned.

Hector and Briseis turned in unison – Hector with reluctance and Briseis in great relief – to greet their cousin Aeneas. "What is it, Aeneas?" Hector asked impatiently. "This had better be important; I was in the middle of teaching little Briseis here a lesson in respect." But Briseis didn't look very happy - she had realized quickly that Hector's best friend would be more likely to aid Hector than rescue her. Aeneas did not disappoint.

He grinned appreciatively. "I can see that," he replied amusedly. "You know, I wondered who had tied Paris to the horse so well when everyone knows he squirms to Hades, and without a saddle too, riding bareback! I could hear his yells all the way from the palace. Uncle Priam won't be too pleased that pretty little Paris now has bruises all over his arms and legs."

"He'll live," Hector answered dismissively. "What is it?"

A sly grin crossed Aeneas's handsome face. "Your lovely bride has arrived from Thebes," he told Hector.

Hector's face went white. "What is she like?" he asked, almost dropping Briseis, who clutched frantically at his shirt and voiced her passioned protests.

"Don't interrupt," Aeneas scolded mockingly. "Now, as I was saying, your lovely bride has arrived from her wonderful kingdom of Thebes. Uncle Priam is quite bowled over by her dowry: the most beautiful necklaces, fashioned from pearls and emeralds, and gold coins that shine as if Apollo crafted them himself…" He nodded his head wisely. "And people think that we Trojans have taste and art! If the princess picked out the jewels herself then she's quite a fashionable Theban."

"Aeneas…" Hector's normally good-natured voice had gone dangerous.

But his cousin didn't pay him any heed. "The princess is really an excellent young woman and she seems determined to make a good impression. Uncle Priam sent her a dress and she's wearing it now. You should see her! Pearls and emeralds and rubies all sewn thickly onto the fabric – it illuminates her sparkling eyes so well - and the silk as fine as anything Athena could make. When I met your Theban princess – _Zeus_!" Aeneas whistled appreciatively. Catching sight of Hector's thunderous expression, he relented, knowing that his cousin was a nervous wreck. "She seems kind-hearted and sweet - albeit a bit shy."

Hector ran both hands through his hair in worry. Unfortunately, when a person puts both hands to his hair, whatever else he is holding drops to the ground – or in this case, sea. Briseis yelped as she fell into the cold water, scrambling up as fast as she could. Unfortunately, she tripped over her long skirts and fell headfirst into the water, coming up with her long dark hair dripping around her face, a length of seaweed adorning her dress and wrapped around her neck. "Hector!!!!" she wailed despairingly as she clawed to get the slimy seaweed off her.

Hector's eyes widened in surprise. Aeneas choked and attempted to stifle his laughter. "I'm sorry," Hector apologized with a broad smile as he extended his hand. "Here."

Briseis giggled, grabbed Hector's outstretched hand, and tugged hard so that the trained warrior lost his ballance and fell into the water with her. Hector's eyes widened and he clumsily fell into the icy sea waters. "There!" Briseis cried happily. Aeneas snorted a laugh and crossed his arms. "Hector, Hector, Hector." Hector, all thoughts of Princess Andromache forgotten, narrowed his eyes, then leaped forward and tackled Aeneas, plunging him into the water. Aeneas yelled. Long and hard.

So it was quite a strange sight for the numerous Trojans gathered at the palace when three dripping Trojan royals arrived.

Aeneas of course looked as handsome as ever. His glossy dark curls shone even brighter from the water; the water glistened on his smooth olive skin; his dark brows quirked with amusement and his deep gray eyes sparkled with laughter. He looked like a young god, utterly and gorgeously refreshed from his swim.

Briseis was shivering slightly in the cool wind. Her curly dark hair fell loosely down her back in wet strands; her lovely emerald-green dress clung to her wet body and instead of falling in graceful waves, clung to her legs, making her stumble as she walked; but Briseis's bright green eyes were dancing with delight; her smile was wide amd mischievous as she nudged Hector on.

Hector was quite a sight to behold. His tunic was wet and dripping; fanning out and clinging to his body in turn; dark splotches of water lighter than others as the water began to dry. Hector's unruly dark brown hair was drenched and wildly curly. Even so, tall, broad-shouldered, and muscled, with intelligent hazel eyes, he was quite handsome, albeit a trifle pale at the prospect of meeting his future bride with a band of seaweed draped around his shoulders.

Princess Andromache was waiting for them in the palace citadel, surrounded by numerous Trojan royals and nobles alike. She was indeed very lovely: tall and willowy and graceful, with long, curly dark brown hair framing her pale, lovely face, she looked sophisticated and beautiful. Andromache's mouth was full and soft, her complexion creamy and smooth, her dark brows level, and her almond-shaped hazel eyes bright. Her brows rose and her chin lifted as she saw the three Trojans approaching in a way that could have been called snobbish.

Hector made his way apprehensively toward his parents and bowed. "Father. Mother."

Queen Hecuba pursed her lips in disapproval at the threesome; but her eyes twinkled merrily and she winked conspiratorially at Briseis. King Priam's brows were lifted; his hand covered a growing smile. "Hector, I am honored to introduce you to the Princess Andromache of Thebes. Princess Andromache, may I introduce to you my son, Prince Hector of Troy."

"And of seaweed," added Aeneas with a mock-ingratiating smile as he dug his elbow into his cousin's ribs.

Hector laughed despite himself and some of the tension was relieved. He bowed over the princess's extended hand. "A delight to make your acquaintance, Your Highness."

Princess Andromache, however, simply looked politely expressionless. "Pleasure," she murmured in her lovely low voice. There was no true pleasure in her words.

Hector's smile faded from his lips. Was his bride-to-be a snob? Aeneas glanced at the young woman from beneath his long lashes. Had he so misjudged the Theban princess? Attentive Briseis, however, caught the quick lowering of thick dark lashes to cover confusion and hesitation in Andromache's hazel eyes, saw the quick flash of consternation and shyness on her face. How strange it must be, to be brought far from your home to a distant land, waiting for your intended husband, who comes to you dripping wet and covered in seaweed? Briseis quickly stepped forward and took both of Andromache's slim hands in her own.

"Hello, cousin!" she cried merrily. "We've waited and waited for you to get here and it's a pleasure to meet you at last! And please don't think that Hector normally looks like this – well, he used to, when he was dressing up as Posideon as a child – but he's actually not this wet most of the time. He was just delivering out a piece of revenge that rather," she shot a quick look at Hector from beneath demurely lowered lashes, "backfired. So please don't be intimidated by his stature – he blushes more easily than anyone else I know! And you should see the color Paris turns sometimes! Just think: now you'll always have something to hold over his head!" she added with a laugh that positively invited everyone else to join in.

Andromache laughed softly. "I see," she answered quietly, but her voice was softer and her stance considerably less tense.

"We're going to be the best of friends!" Briseis announced with another merry smile. "Can you tell me all about Thebes? I want to hear_ all _about it! I'll tell you all about Hector in return – like how he hates spiders and screams like a girl whenever he sees one - he jumps up and down until a servant crushes it; and how's allergic to some types of nuts that make his face swell up and turn a funny color; and – oh we are going to have _so_ much fun tormenting him together!" She giggled delightedly.

At first Princess Andromache simply looked politely overwhelmed at Briseis's speech, but then slowly, her face softened, and a sparkle of laughter danced in her hazel eyes, making her appear lovelier than ever. "I am so glad to hear of it," she replied warmly. Andromache glanced shyly at her betrothed. "Although I do not think that I am supposed to torment anyone," she added hesitantly, "As it would probably cause my victim anguish or embarrassment."

Briseis laughed. "Exactly why you shoul do it!"

A slow smile spread on Andromache's face. "So I would suppose," she agreed. "But, forgive me – who are you?"

Briseis laughed again. "Why, I am Briseis, Princess of Troy."


	3. Achilles of Phtia

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters/places/events/other things associated with Troy/Iliad/Odyssey/Whatever.

Achilles of Phtia frowned in concentration as he ducked the silver blur of the Myrmidon's sword; he sprang away from injuries by an inch and parried the second furious bow with his sword. He could feel sweat trickling down his spine - he had been sparring with twenty different warriors since sunrise and Phoebus Apollo shone brightly now in the miday sky. His grip tightened on his sword as he pressed down hard and pushed the warrior back. A quick gesture disarmed his opponent but Achilles did not slacken his grip: the whistling arc of a second man's sword came down toward his head and Achilles quickly dodged the blow. He came back behind the man and dealt a quick but paralyzing blow to the seasoned warrior's head. The man went down hard.

Achilles stepped back calmly and regarded the unconscious man. "Ice," he ordered coolly.

Instantly a servant boy ran off to fetch the ice; a waiting physician hurried up to examine the fallen warrior's head.

"You didn't have to hit him so hard," commented a voice dryly.

Achilles turned slightly. "What mean you by that, Eudorus?"

Eudorus was tall and strong and muscled, with the wiry grace of a trained warrior, and battle scars to prove his skill, but there was a sort of deference when he spoke to the young prince. "It was only sparring, Prince Achilles," he replied lightly. He was on dangerous ground. "There was no need to deal such a harsh blow to the man - he may live to regret it."

The golden-haired prince sheathed his sword. "Sparring is to train for reality. If I would spare this man in a spar, would I not also subconsciously be obliged to spar a man in battle. A moment of pity - a seed of such a thing - is dangerous to cultivate. A second of hesitation in battle will kill you." Without even a slight change in his calm voice, he remarked, "He was seeking to injure me somehow, or perhaps kill me, and make it seem like an accident. He should know that accidents don't happen in battle. Or to me."

"I know not if it was his intention."

"He was a fool who thought that I deserved not my title."

"He is one of King Agamemnon's men," Eudorus ventured. Achilles was a lion easily provoked and he had no wish to do so. He would serve this boy as he would his King Peleus - until he died. "Not from our land. He probably does not think it ordinary that a - a young man younger than most trainees would spar with the Myrmidon warriors."

Achilles smiled thinly. "That is just King Agamemnon for you, Eudorus. All show and title and nothing to do with talent or true power. And this is the High King of the Greeks. He is a fool, and that man is a fool to have thought that any son of Peleus of Phtia would be untrained in the art of war. I may be young, and with my curls to my shoulders still, but I will not be tested, and my glory will far surpass that of the stupid oaf who pretends to be King while he relies on better and wiser men to bring him his glory and serve it to him on a silver platter."

Eudorus had to smile at this description. "I do not know anything of the sort," he replied quietly.

But the prince just smiled again. "Oh, but you do, Eudorus," he answered shrewdly. "You are far cleverer than Agamemnon, and far sharper than you let on." He shook his head, flipping a dagger lazily up into the air and catching it again. "A wise thing to do. If a man thinks that another has any worth to him that surpasses his own talents, he will either crush the man and his talent, or force it to his own use. That, my friend, is the way of the world."

"Is that the way of the world?" A voice as clear and melodic as water drifted to them.

Everywhere in the training yard business halted as all the warriors paused to stare at the incredible beautiful woman approaching them. She was stunning, with glossy golden-brown curls done up in a elaborate knot at the nape of her neck, with a few tendrils framing her face. Her skin was pale and smooth, her smile as sweet as honey, and she carried herself with a sort of immortal grace. The woman's eyes were extraordinary, such a deep, deep blue that changed to dark green and then to aqua as you gazed at her, so youthful and merry and yet so deep and wise at the same time. She was every inch a Queen.

Achilles smiled - a true smile that illuminated his startling beauty. "Mother."

Thetis the sea goddess smiled back, then turned to speak to the entire courtyard. "I wished not to disturb you all. Please, resume your business." After the men bowed and returned to their business, she turned and laid a hand on her son's arm. "I would speak with you, my son." Her deep eyes caught Eudorus's. "If you will excuse us, Eudorus."

She led him to a cool, shaded, deserted part of the courtyard. "I have some news for you, Achilles, my son."

"Any news you have will be gladly received, Mother. But is it good news or bad?"

Thetis smiled. "Good," she replied. "And bad. I believe that you know of your young cousin, Patroclus?"

Achilles nodded slowly. "He is the son of Father's sister, is he not? And several years younger than I."

"That is correct. Patroclus is only eight, I believe, only a child still." Thetis paused to study her son. Achilles in some ways resembled her closely, yet in other ways was so different from her. He was tall and slender despite being very muscled, with glossy golden curls that tumbled about loosely on his shoulders, in the tradition of Greek boys, bronze skin that glowed in the sunlight, a sensitive mouth that contradicted the rest of his strong features, high cheekbones, and Thetis's deep, wise, dark blue eyes, like the ocean waves in a storm. He was a warrior born, who thought of nothing but of victory and war, yet he walked and spoke with the same immortal-born dignity that Thetis herself did, and was determined that no god would prevent him from having his way.

Only a young boy still, and yet so unlike most young boys, Thetis thought wistfully. Did she regret anything? No. She loved Achilles and loved everything about him. Peleus certainly loved and doted on his son and was proud of him beyond measure. But of the prophecy of the Fates - wise Athena will give him strength, she reminded herself, but couldn't help but shudder slightly.

"Mother, what is it?" Achilles asked softly.

Thetis shook her head. "It is nothing," she replied. "But to resume our conversation, Patroclus's parents died in a terrible hunting accident a fortnight ago. The circumstances are very suspicious, and nobody knows quite what happened, and poor Patroclus is now an orphan. It appears that nobody is willing to take the poor boy in, and so your father has volunteered to bring him here."

Achilles was silent for a moment. "Of course," he replied at last. "Bring him here by all means. He has no other home."

"I must tell you that Patroclus is not used to a land like this," Thetis warned gently, turning to stare out at the coastline, which sparkled in the sun. "This land has its own rugged beauty and grace, but nobody can deny that it is hard. Patroclus is used to an easy, luxurious life, and he may not adjust well at first. You can be a bit...rough with strangers at first. I ask you, Achilles, to be gentle with him, to help him heal his heart."

Achilles nodded. Certainly he would do as his mother asked of him, but he couldn't help but wonder what this cousin, this Patroclus was like. Would him another annoying little boy with a whiny voice who tagged along and made everything difficult, like the boys he had seen when visiting Mycenae. Or would he be another owl who was forever grating about the goodness of the gods? Duty over desire, he reminded himself firmly. I must obey my duty to my family, and I will try to comfort this cousin of mine.

Thetis smiled. "Thank you." A faraway look appeared in her blue eyes. "I believe that your father and young Patroclus are at shore right now. Would you come with me and greet them?"

The young man nodded and began moving easily down a twisting path. Although only fifteen years old, he possessed a sort of quiet, panther-like grace. Together the sea goddess and the young warrior walked down to the beach, where a Myrmidon ship was docked, to greet the young boy who would change Phtia forever.

The figure who stepped off the boat first was King Peleus of Phtia. He was tall and muscled, with curly golden-brown hair bleached in the sun, a slow smile, and the dark brown eyes that Thetis had fallen in love with. "Thetis!" he called delightedly, and she rushed into his arms. For a moment they stood locked in an embrace, their eyes communicating better than words ever could, while Achilles stood, a slight, bemused smile on his lips. What was the thing that his parents shared, that made them know the other so well? What was that special gift that they both had?

Meanwhile, another Myrmidon was helping a slight boy off the ship. The boy swayed dizzily on his feet, and the man chuckled indulgently, no doubt remembering his own queasy first experiences on land after a long sea faring journey. He stepped forward hesitantly, and Achilles saw his cousin Patroclus for the very first time.

Patroclus was very slender, pale, and shy. Glossy silvery-blond curls framed his face, his nose was straight, his mouth soft and vulnerable, and his wide blue eyes filled with anguish and pain that Achilles almost flinched at seeing. He had seen men die before his very eyes, moaning or cursing the gods as blood spurted from their mouths, but then why was he so affected by the raw grief of a mere child? Patroclus's eyes were filled with a pain that Achilles had never noticed before, and seeing it made him start.

Achilles took a step forward, and Patroclus instantly stepped back, stumbling slightly. For the first time, Achilles realized how scared, confused, and lonely the boy must be. Thetis had mentioned that Patroclus's parents had been very close to their only son, and it must have hurt his cousin deeply when they died - Achilles knew that it would have hurt him like hell. He had been brought to a strange land by an uncle he had never met before, and was now being confronted by a person several years his senior.

So he smiled slightly, hoping to put his cousin at ease. "Patroclus?" he asked gently.

Patroclus looked down. "Yes," he whispered. Why was it that he could still be unable to look anyone full in the eyes?

"I'm your cousin," Achilles informed him awkwardly as he cudgeled his mind for something to say. But what was there to say to a boy who he had never met before in his life, a boy with whom he had so little in common, a boy that he could not even relate to?

"I know," the boy whispered again, flinching slightly.

Achilles felt a stab of pity. He could hear Thetis's words floating back to him again: "_I ask you, Achilles, to be gentle with him, to help him heal his heart._" Patroclus had loved his parents, and he was obviously devastated. He had promised to befriend this cousin, and he would do that. It would take time and patience, but then, a Myrmidon had to exercise patience. No time to start like the present, he reminded himself. Besides, pity tugged at his heart as he realized that this cousin could easily have been him, had not Fate been kind to his family.

"Don't be afraid," he told Patroclus softly. "I know that it can be overwhelming here, but you will soon get used to it." Patroclus bit his lip, and then hesitantly looked up into Achilles's eyes. Perhaps some of the understanding in his eyes convinced him, for he nodded his head timidly. Achilles smiled. "I'll help you adjust to Phtia, cousin, for it truly is a beautiful land. Don't worry. You will be happy here, and," Achilles paused, searching for words to put the boy at ease. "And...we can be friends. I am your cousin, after all: Achilles, Prince of Phtia... and the Myrmidons."

* * *

A/N: I updated this story for you guys! I feel so happy and proud of myself that I did it, because my home computer is screwed right now, so i've been using the library computer to write this chapter. Maybe Achilles seems a bit out of character in this story but that's OK right? I figured that nobody starts out that cold and emotionless - he's already proud, but I do have a bit of an idea for what made him the way he is. Already Achilles is ambitious and proud, but come on, who doesn't feel sorry for a little boy who's lost both his parents and is brought to a land far from his home and different in almost every aspect? Thank you so much to everyone who voted on my poll - everybody else, please go and vote on the poll - it basically gives YOU the power to decide what happens in this story. So please please please please go and vote! And please please please please please please please please review and I'll keep updating! 


	4. Cousin Patroclus

Disclaimer: Je ne suis pas Homer. 

Achilles shifted restlessly on his bed; he was exhausted and longed for nothing more than to sink into the sweet depths of Hypnos. Yet something prickled uncomfortably at his consciousness and would not rest. He closed his eyes wearily; the day had been extremely tiring and he had not the strength to open his eyes again - so why could he not sleep? Then there came a soft cry from the next room. The muffled cry of a child who does not want to be heard; yet yearns for someone to come bestow comfort.

_Patroclus._

Of course. Patroclus slept in the room next to Achilles's, and was obviously not sleeping at all, although he was certainly as exhausted as his cousin. All day Achilles had exerted himself to comfort this grieving cousin - all day Patroclus had replied timidly with fear in his eyes. He flinched whenever Achilles spoke directly to him, shied away from his cousin's guiding hand, staring at the ground and refusing to meet his eyes. Achilles had felt a slight annoyance at this - a warrior had to forget his grief and move on, or he would be crippled by that pain and killed in his distraction, and had to bite back harsh words that would no doubt make Patroclus even shyer. But was that truly what annoyed him? Or was it really that he could not stand to see such pain?

_Go and comfort him_.

The words floated like a breath of wind into his mind; _he_ had not thought them, but the thought was there. A clear message that Achilles knew instinctively not to ignore. He threw off the covers and slipped out of bed, quietly making his way to his cousin's room, and gently pushing open the door to Patroclus's bedroom without a sound.

He stopped dead.

His cousin was but a slight figure hunched over in bed, shivering as if with ague, his chin resting drawn-up knees. Patroclus's fair hair gleamed in the darkness; Achilles could see in the dim moonlight shining from the open window the tear-soaked covers that his cousin had wrapped himself in. The boy was crying, sobbing as though his heart was broken, but all the while pressed his face into his covers so that the sound was muffled, as if he was frightened of being caught weeping. Achilles had never seen a more pitiable sight in his life.

"Patroclus." The word slipped from Achilles's lips before he could stop himself.

Patroclus flinched as though he had been struck. "I am sorry," he whispered. "I am sorry I disturbed you. Please forgive me. Please. I-I did not mean it. Please don't blame me!" Tears ran down his raw cheeks and he shuddered uncontrollably. "_Please _don't hate me, cousin," he begged softly.

Achilles stared at his cousin - he had never seen anyone so torn up - _never. _He had never imagined how much pain and grief a boy might go through because of the death of his parents. How could he - blessed as he was by the gods that he had his parents still - imagine anything like that pain? He himself cared only for his parents. No one else. How it must have hurt Patroclus; and then he had been brought to a strange land, been treated like a burden by his cousin. No wonder he had been acting so; Patroclus was like an animal terribly treated and afraid of the hand that meant him no harm. "No, Patroclus. Please. _I_ am sorry that I disturbed you," he replied awkwardly. "I just...I heard...I will go now."

"No!" Patroclus cried wildly. He stumbled and nearly fell out of bed as he grabbed at Achilles's hand. "Please don't leave me alone! I don't want to..." He broke off and lifted eyes shimmering with tears. "I miss my parents so much," he whispered brokenly, crouching on the stone floor. "I miss them...And in the dark," he gulped. "I hear their screams..."

Achilles moved forward. For he realized now that was this boy needed more than anything was not pitying words, nor sympathy or condecension, nor even simple human kindness, but a friend. The knowledge that someone genuinely cares for you and likes you for who you are is like an anchor in a sea of grief. And perhaps his pride not let him admit it to anyone else, but Achilles knew that he also needed a friend.

He gently put his arms around his cousin. At first Patroclus flinched and stiffened, then relaxed slightly as Achilles spoke. "Just cry...cry if you want to...cry all that you can cry if that will lessen the hurt." Pactroclus obeyed, sobs wracking his thin frame, and pressed his face against Achilles's shoulder. Achilles didn't say much, just held his cousin and told him quietly that while he, Achilles, did not understand the immense grief haunting Patroclus, he wanted to help him, to be his friend.

The beautiful goddess of wisdom watched the two with a lovely smile on her lips. Soon she would speak with Achilles about his destiny; soon she would tell him bits and pieces of his future. But now was not the time; the spell woven over Achilles and Patroclus was fragile and easily broken. So Athena merely stood, silent and invisible to mortal eyes, watching as Patroclus's wreching sobs finally ceased and he fell asleep, his fair head leaning against Achilles's shoulder. Athena moved quietly and brushed Achilles's bleary eyes with her fingertips; her touch was as light as a butterfly's wing. She laughed quietly as Achilles's lashes fluttered and he too fell asleep.

"Losing to the urge to sleep. One of the few battles that you will ever lose, Achilles, but fear not: I will always be here."

Grey-eyed Athena - favorite daughter of thunder-striking Zeus and bearer of his Aegis - is truly the goddess of wisdom. She sees all; all that has happened and all that is happening and all that can happen in the murky depths of the future. A goddess who judges all others with clear eyes and knows and accepts her own faults instead of hiding them away. A goddess who has witnessed horrific wars and glorious battles. A goddess who has been both taunted and victorious. A goddess who is proud and loving. A goddess who is softened by the peaceful serenity of two cousins in the first days of an incredible friendship that would last all of their lives. A wise goddess indeed.

* * *

"I cannot believe it." 

Four words rarely spoken by the woman who catches glimpses of the future and is great friends with the Fates.

But Thetis was stunned. Her incredible eyes widened wtih astonishment; her full lips were parted slightly. "How did they think they could get away with it?"

"Get away with what?"

Thetis and Peleus turned to see Achilles and Patroclus entering the room. Patroclus had been following Achilles around like a shadow for the past few weeks and he rarely spoke; Achilles didn't mind. He had come to value the few things Patroclus did say because they were almost always full of a wisdom rarely seen in a child. And despite the difference in their ages, Achilles had come to see Patroclus as an extremely good friend and a younger brother, while Patroclus too sough Achilles's friendship and worshiped him as a protector.The two of them had rapidly become inseperable.

Peleus smiled distractedly in greeting. "News just came from the city of Sparta. I assume that you have all of heard of Princess Helen."

Achilles smiled wryly. "Of course. Rumored to be the most beautiful girl in the entire world."

"How skeptical you sound, my son," his father remarked. The worry lines on his face relaxed as he smiled. "I know that when I was your age I was _very_ different. When I heard that the loveliest sea goddesses had been sighted on the beaches, I was remarkably quick to dash down there and admire her beauty myself. She was _extremely_ pleasing." He cast a teasing glance at said sea goddess, who smiled archly back at him, her eyes twinkling.

Achilles shrugged. "I have heard others announced as the loveliest of creatures. Beautiful Arethusa who was the young handmaiden of Artemis. Or perhaps the stunning Medea who wed Jason of the Argonauts. And then there is the ravishing Princess Ariadne who became wife to the great god of wine Dionysus! How quickly one beautiful woman is succeeded by another!"

"Ah, but men's memories fade as rapidly as the dew from the grass, Achilles," Thetis pointed out. "This one was lovelier today and the next lovelier tomorrow. Time passes and men forget, yet there is always some captivating beauty who enchants the hearts of men, and earns, for a brief time, the glory of being called the most attractive of all mortal woman." Her full lips quirked. "And then they grow old."

"So is this one worth the title?"

"That is the galling thing," Thetis replied laughingly. "She truly is probably the most exquisite mortal creature in the world. All the young men have fallen madly in love with her at first sight and send gifts that cost magnificent fortunes just for the chance to behold her face once more. Quite a pleasure for her stepfather the King of Sparta to receive. Princess Helen is incredibly captivating and charismatic. The epitome of perfection." She smiled impishly at her son.

"Physically," Achilles disagreed. He knew perfectly well what his mother was implying. "By all accounts Helen of Sparta is a sweet girl but lacking sharp wits or depth. What use is loveliness if there is no fire in her nature?" Beauty was all very well, but girls who were docile and obedient repelled him, and he felt no affection for any of them. It was amusing sometimes to observe them staring at him shamelessly, but more often it annoyed him. How superficial!

"Then you would prefer her cousin Lady Penelope," Peleus answered. "Now there is perfection in a princess! The classic Greek princess; she is classically beautiful, steady, loyal, and intensely intelligent, and witty. His smile was mischievous. "They say she runs the Spartan palace more efficiently than any Queen has ever done and has been doing so since she was seven. Quite an accomplishment. And when I heard about her little plot!" He whistled appreciatively.

"Rogue!" Thetis smacked her husband playfully with her fan. "I was born a goddess and never taught accounts!"

"What happened?" Patroclus asked softly. "With Princess Helen?"

Peleus laughed and slipped an arm around Thetis's slender waist. "Forgive us, Patroclus, I completely forgot the initial question. Well, young Helen's beauty is incredible - one might even say immortal."

Achilles understood immediately. "Lord Zeus of the Universe?"

"Devoted to women," Thetis quipped. "I should know. Yes, Helen is the daughter of Zeus, one might say the loveliest mortal he ever fathered. A key factor in the events that have occurred. You see, Theseus of Athens, slayer of the Minotaur and a great Greek hero, has been restless for a long while." Her face grew serious. "Some say that he has grown madly reckless, ever since the Amazoness Hippolyta - another girl cited as a great beauty and indeed she was stunning - died of a poisoned arrow meant for him. I believe it. And he has indeed become almost inclined to suicide. He has made a pledge with a fool of an Athenian named Pirithous: both vowed to have a daughter of Zeus as their own."

"And Theseus chose Helen of Sparta?"

Peleus nodded. "He landed with his pirate fleet at Sparta and sent the entire palace into pandemonium. His men sacked the palace but killed no one: Theseus was too eager to find Helen. He was sidetracked and nearly distracted by the witty Penelope, who danced over his strengths and played on all his weaknesses, and almost succededed in delaying him until her father and uncle returned home. But Theseus realized that he had been played the fool and brushed her aside to find Helen; she was cowering under the bed of her old nursemaid. Anyway, he made off with her on his ship, along with half of her dowry, and was heard to remark that it was a pity he couldn't have taken the Lady Penelope along as well."

"And naturally everyone was in an outrage," Achilles predicted wryly.

"An understatement. They were apopletic. The King of Sparta has bidden all brave and goodhearted princes to come to his aid and rescue Helen from that evil man. With a highly incentive prize for the man who plays a heavy role in returning her _safely_ to Sparta." His mouth twitched with supressed laughter.

"The prize being Helen herself?"

"Precisely. Do either of you fancy being wed to the most beautiful woman in the world?"

"Hardly," Achilles retorted dryly. "I have no interest in a sweet-natured and obedient little beauty who cares for nothing but her own looks; a docile girl without any spunk or fire. Without fire in one's soul one is hardly _alive_. To be vibrant and fiery is to be truly alive, to live each moment to the fullest. Helen is just a remarkably beautiful little creature without any intelligence or vibrance."

"Do you have no interest in love?"

"Love weakens a warrior," Achilles answered dismissively. "I have no use for such a paltry emotion."

Peleus glanced significantly at his wife; she pressed her lips tightly together. Both of them knew that Achilles was wrong in this; very wrong. Love does not weaken; it strengthens and uplifts beyond belief. Love is a quality that gives men strength to stand up and drive armies away from their homes. Love bestows upon sweet girls the power to rouse entire cities to fight for just causes. Love is dangerous and maddening yes; but undeniably powerful.

'What of the glory that awaits the hero of this adventure?" Peleus pointed out. Thetis shot him a sharp look and he smiled blandly in return. "The glory awaiting the young man who returns a sweet and innocent girl who is incidentally the most beautiful in the world to her adoring family after rescuing her from the evil clutches of a bloodthirsty and tyrannical old pirate?"

Achilles snorted. "Hardly. Everybody knows that King Theseus is first and foremost a just man. He killed no one if he could help it and is famed for being kindhearted. I believe that he only took up and honored his part of this bargain because he wished for an end to his life after the Amazoness Hippolyta died. Another reason love weakens warriors and drives them to perform foolish acts, but I digress. He is hardly dangerous to Helen - in _any _way. He is honorable and no doubt only wishes for a princess's ransom before returning the girl, unharmed, to her family. The King of Sparta only stirred up this great scandal because he wished his daughter to be famous for the girl many noble kings and princes fought for, and no doubt so that those foolhardy young men would fall in love with Helen, and send her more gifts that would be happily received into the Spartan treasury."

"So you have no interest in the glory in this matter?"

"The glory waiting for a hero in such an adventure is paltry and degrading. This whole affair is ridiculous and to participate in the this playacting would be foolish. I will not risk my life and fight for such a cause like this one when a good amount of gold and jewelry could return Helen safely to her home."

But it seemed that many other young men were willing - passionately eager - to do just that.


End file.
